


Top Gear/Grand Tour Dribble/Drouble/Drabbles

by tgtchm



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 16:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12561840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgtchm/pseuds/tgtchm
Summary: A collection of little short ficlet/drabble things I've written – Top Gear/Grand Tour edition!





	1. You're the Firestarter (James/Richard, Drouble)

**Author's Note:**

> A dribble is exactly 50 words, a drabble is exactly 100 words, a drouble is exactly 200 words, and most of these are a combination of the above.
> 
> Chapters 1-7 were for the Top Gear Slash Dribble/Drouble/Drabble halloween challenge week (despite all of my fills NOT being halloween-y in the slightest...)
> 
> Chapters 8-9 are just random drabbles
> 
> Chapters 10-onwards are for the CHMSlash Dribble/Drabble/Drouble Challenge With A Twist :~)
> 
> In addition to this, chapters 1-9 were written in 2015 between October and December and as part of me reuploading all my old works I've edited them for grammar and punctuation issues but nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fireworks

Richard sways in drunkenly, and James can smell the beer on his breath, see his pupils, blown wide open. He still does not move, knows that if he does Richard will just chase him anyway until they’ve had a proper snog. It’s happened before.

“James…” Richard whispers, and leans in, eyes fluttering shut.

Their lips meet, briefly, softly, and underneath him Richard arches up, arms coming around to clutch desperately at James’ shirt, and James leans into the kiss, feeling lightheaded already—

And an almighty _bang!_ echoes around them, making Richard leap a foot into the air in shock, cracking his head against James’. They both wince, and stagger backwards.

“Jaames! That really hurt,” Richard grumbles, clutching his head with both hands.

James rubs his own temple, a steady throb settling in. “I can’t control the youths down the street setting off fireworks, Richard,” he replies mildly, watching Richard stagger into his comfy chair and sit down.

“Bit bloody early for bonfire night,” Richard whines, staring up at James sulkily. “But that does add an entirely new meaning to feeling fireworks while kissing…”

James’ smiles, leaning down to press another kiss to Richard’s lips, feeling the younger man hum contently.


	2. Sticky (Jeremy/James, Drouble-Drouble)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: ice cream van

“Jeremy?” James asks, opening the door to find a miserable-looking Jeremy on his doorstep, clutching two melted ice cream cones. “What on earth are you doing?”

Jeremy shrugs, but he can’t make eye contact with James, and he realises he’s embarrassed. “I had to park ten minutes away, and there was an ice cream van round the corner, so I thought I’d…” He gestures helplessly, the melted ice cream running down his sleeve and dripping onto James’ doorstop.

“I’ve got ice cream in the freezer,” James replies, secretly enjoying watching Jeremy squirm a little bit.

Jeremy narrows his eyes. “I’m not bloody psychic, May. How was I meant to know?”

James shifts his weight to lean on the doorframe and crosses his arms against his chest, biting back a smile. “It’s twenty-five degrees outside, Jeremy.”

“Yes, I know I’ve no foresight and I’m an impulsive idiot but can you please let me in?” Jeremy whines, and James can see the sweat beading on his brow, so he relents and stands aside, letting Jeremy in and shutting the door after him.

Waltzing into the kitchen like he owns the place, Jeremy dumps the ice cream in the bin and looks at his hands distastefully. “Why is ice cream so disgustingly sticky?”

James walks up to him, pressing him back against the sink, and kisses him chastely. “Do you really want to know the answer? It’s because of—”

“Yes! Yes, alright, it was a hypothetical question, James,” Jeremy complains loudly, before pressing his sticky, disgusting hands on either side of James’ face, grinning evilly.

James recoils instantly, shoving Jeremy in the shoulder and backing away, wiping the ice cream off his face with his shirt, turning around to get a flannel, but Jeremy touches him again on his exposed back and he whirls with a shout.

“You are repulsive, Clarkson!” he yells, but he sees the funny side now, and can’t help but laugh.

“ _That_ was for making me wait on your doorstep a minute too long.” Jeremy growls, coming for him again, arms outstretched like a zombie.

James dodges away, laughing as Jeremy reaches for him, displaying a surprising amount of agility that belies his size. He catches James eventually in the bathroom, and pulls him close, ignoring James' protests ("I like this shirt, Jeremy!") and kissing him, hard and fast and desperately.

"...And _that_ was for making me chase you."


	3. Out from Under (Jeremy/Richard, Double-Drouble-Drabble)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: melting ice

“Want a fag?” Jeremy asks, offering him the packet as they walk along the grass.

 _No, I’d like to kiss you, actually_ , Richard thinks, closing his eyes, trying to ground himself. But a fag’d be nice, might chase away these irrational feelings, so he takes the proffered packet and places the cigarette between his lips, trying not to look Jeremy in the eyes as he leans in, Jeremy’s lighter flicking open, the heat from the flame warming his face.

There is something intimate about lighting someone else’s cigarette for them, and as Jeremy’s hand comes up to block the wind, he accidentally brushes Richard’s face, and they both jump. Fag safely lit, they retreat and continue walking, shoes crunching the ice that’s covered the grass, looking at everything but each other.

Why he’d come to Dunsfold early he’d never know, only he’d woken up at five in the morning with an itch, a desperate need to suddenly be here, to walk along the side of the runway, breath frosting on the air, the satisfying crunch of frost underneath his feet. Jeremy, too, had apparently felt the same urge—which in itself was odd, because Jeremy is not a morning person—and so they’d wordlessly started walking, just the two of them, alone.

He wants to say something—the silence is absolutely killing him—but can’t find the words, doesn’t know what to say. How do you tell your best mate that you quite fancy him and think he has a great arse? You just don’t. So he stays silent, tilting his head back to look at the sun, its weak rays starting to melt the frost already.

“Richard…” Jeremy begins, and when Richard looks at him his brow is furrowed and there’s a strange frustrated expression on his face; Jeremy gets frustrated very easily but what’s there to be frustrated about _now?_ He opens his mouth to reply when, in front of his very eyes, Jeremy slips on a patch of melting ice on the edge of the runway and begins to fall.

It happens in slow motion: Jeremy’s long legs going out from underneath him, arms flailing wildly, managing to grasp Richard’s wrist, and then the world tilts from underneath as Jeremy pulls him down, down, and they land in a tangled heap on the asphalt of the runway, Richard lying on top of Jeremy.

“Jeremy,” he says, cordially, unsure of how to proceed; all the physical contact—even through the thick layers of clothes they’re wearing—has his heart racing.

“Richard,” Jeremy replies, voice hoarse and full of need, and so when Jeremy pulls him in for a ferocious kiss Richard isn’t really surprised.

Perhaps he should be, but he’s not; not really. What Jeremy wants, Jeremy gets, and apparently Jeremy has decided he wants him. The kiss is rough, ravenous; Jeremy seems to be drinking him in, his hands pulling Richard closer so they're as close as close can be, and Richard feels himself start to melt.


	4. Hayfever (Jeremy/James, Drouble)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: coughs and sneezes/pollen count

“‘M bloody miserable.” Jeremy mutters, sniffing and rolling over on the sofa so he faces James.

“I know,” James replies. Although he, too, gets hayfever, it’s not nearly as bad as Jeremy, who has a constant runny nose all throughout spring. This year it’s particularly bad, and Jeremy is sneezing endlessly, their usual routine of watching films together round at James’ interrupted by Jeremy’s cacophonous eruptions. 

He gets up to rummage in the bathroom counter, looking for the antihistamines he knows he bought just the other weekend. He finds them hiding behind some nasal spray and returns to Jeremy, who is half asleep, nose red and eyes watery, carrying with him a blanket.

“Take these,” he murmurs, placing the pills in Jeremy’s hand. “There’s some paracetamol there, too, for your headache.” He hands Jeremy a glass of water and watches as he downs the pills, draping the blanket over him and tucking him in.

“You’re too good to me, James,” Jeremy mumbles, rolling over onto his back and pulling the blanket up to his chin. 

James smiles and tucks his hair behind his ears. “Quite right.”

He watches Jeremy until the older man falls asleep, admiring how peaceful he looks.


	5. Dead Leaves (Jeremy/Richard, Drouble-Drouble)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: autumn leaves

“You two off to the pub, then?” James asks with his hands in his pockets, standing next to his hideous Panda in the carpark at Dunsfold, the wind whipping his hair around furiously.

Richard looks at Jeremy, who looks back at him evenly before shaking his head. “No. I think we’re just going to have a quiet night in.”

James nods and they say their goodbyes, watching him drive off. When they’d sat him down and told him about their relationship, he had been completely understanding, if not very surprised. He’d even asked if all the gay jokes on his behalf were Clarkson projecting, which got him two fingers jabbed in his direction.

Richard turns to Jeremy, who is studying him intensely, and shivers. The way Jeremy looks at him sometimes, with his brow furrowed and mouth twitching up in a smile—well. It makes him feel twisty and hot on the inside.

They just stand there, looking at each other, as the wind whips through their hair. Withdrawing into his coat some more—he hates the cold—he looks down at his feet, the leaves dropping from the trees whirling around him, and has an idea.

Bending over to pick up a handful of leaves, he throws them at Jeremy, who just raises his eyebrows. “How old are you, Richard?”

He laughs and stalks closer, a handful of leaves in each fist. “At least I’m not an ancient old man.”

Jeremy takes a step forward, too, grinning wolfishly. “If you’re thinking of putting those leaves down my shirt, I’d think again if I was you. There’s no way you can reach up that high.”

Squawking with indignation, he leaps, taking a fluid surge forward and jumping up to try and shove the leaves down Jeremy’s collar, but Jeremy sees him coming and grabs him round the waist, walking backwards with him, thumping him down unceremoniously on the bonnet of his Porsche.

He stares at Jeremy for a moment, Jeremy’s hands hot on his waist, and lets go of the leaves, which float uselessly to the ground. Jeremy licks his lips and leans in, pressing up against Richard, and they kiss, frantically and hotly, Richard grabbing Jeremy by the collar and pulling him closer.

"You are an _infuriating_ little man," Jeremy mumbles heavily against his neck.

"Yes," Richard agrees, wrapping his legs around Jeremy and bringing their mouths together again.


	6. Can I Just Hold On? (OT3, Double-Drouble-Drabble)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “young man’s fancy”

As James studies Richard’s face, smoothed in sleep from all the worries and troubles of the day, he wonders if perhaps they are too old to continue doing this.

It’s of no bother to him—as Jeremy constantly likes to remind him, he is an old soul and was seemingly born middle aged—but he wonders if perhaps Richard is having doubts as he approaches fifty, especially after the awful year they’ve had.

It had just seemed natural for all of them to fall into a relationship, he realises. Like taking the next logical step on their journey. The transition from colleagues to friends to lovers had been as easy as breathing, like something instinctual, and now here they were, two years later, still together and still fighting after everything the world had thrown at them.

Interrupting his reverie, he hears his front door open, almost certainly Jeremy coming in late after more negotiations. Rising smoothly, trying to ignore his knees creaking and cracking, James shoots one last look at a sleeping Richard—who rolls over violently—and heads down the hall to greet Jeremy.

“I hate Americans,” Jeremy mutters as he shrugs off his coat and shucks off his shoes, leaving them in the hallway (despite knowing how much it irritates James).

James steps close to him and sags heavily against his chest, needing comfort. “We could always pack it in, retire.”

Jeremy snorts, arms closing on James’ middle, pulling him close. “Well, that’s rather insulting, James. I’m only fifty five.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” James hums, burrowing closer to Jeremy. “Besides, Richard would go mental in about a week.”

"Stuff Richard. I'd drive you both up the wall in under 24 hours. You'd be begging me to go back to work."

James chuckles and pulls away, heading back to the bedroom, back to a sleeping Richard, knowing Jeremy will follow. "Are you sure we're not... You know... Too old for this?" he asks doubtfully over his shoulder.

He would understand if the answer was yes—really, he would. This thing had started as a bit of fun when they were all younger and still had hope that everything would continue as normal. Now that their world was upside down, he couldn't blame them if they decided to leave.

"Cold feet, James?" Jeremy mutters, unbuttoning his shirt, watching James with dark eyes as he slides into bed next to Richard.

"No. I'm being realistic," he replies, sliding down underneath the sheets, feeling Richard drift backwards into his arms.

Jeremy raises his eyebrows as he pulls on his ratty sleeping shirt and tracksuit bottoms "It's a bit bloody late for that, James. I'm old and fat, you're old and a pedant and Richard is..."

"Getting old and irritating," James finishes, feeling the bed dip as Jeremy clambers in, on the other side of Richard.

"He's always been irritating, James," Jeremy mumbles, hand fumbling across Richard's head to rest on James' shoulder. "Love you."

James closes his eyes, drifting off in contentment.


	7. But I Know I'm Not Standing Alone (Jeremy/James, Double-Drouble-Drabble)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: darker nights

Jeremy hates nights.

He’s always been a night owl but now, as he’s getting older, weariness starts to come over him earlier and earlier. James has always been an old man, pottering off to bed as soon as he can, but Jeremy’s not. His insomnia is getting worse, too.

He takes a drag from his cigarette and flicks the ash out the window. He knows James doesn’t like smoking inside, but he’d tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, and God knows he needed one.

He’s just so tired of everything, all the time. He’s physically tired, can barely get up in the mornings. He’s emotionally tired, and feels himself snapping at James more often. It’s awful of him, he knows, but he’s just exhausted; weariness has wormed its way into his bones, sits on his shoulder like demon, laughing and breathing heavily down his neck.

“Jeremy?” James mutters, from right behind him, and he jumps, whirling around guiltily. “What’re you doing out here?”

He looks down, takes another shaky drag. “Couldn’t sleep.”

James stares at him for a moment, before stepping forward, and, in one smooth motion, flicking the fag out the window and embracing Jeremy, holding him tight and close, hand rubbing on his back in soothing, slow circles. Usually Jeremy is the one to initiate physical contact, so this is different. He sighs and slips his arms around James' waist, feeling how warm he is.

"You haven't been able to sleep a lot, lately. What's going on?" James whispers, hand slipping under Jeremy's shirt now to touch his back.

Jeremy shrugs, accidentally banging James in the chin with his shoulder as he does so. "Everything. The show, or lack of it. What I'm going to do. The press. Everything, James."

"Jeremy," James sighs, and it's an apology and a plea. "You know I'd follow you to the end of the earth."

Jeremy pulls away, staring out the window, wishing James hadn't flicked that bloody fag away. "I always knew you were soft, but I didn't realise you'd gone _completely_ mental." He sighs. "I'm old, fat, violent, balding, I can't even keep a job—"

"You think I didn't know that when I met you?" James laughs, coming alongside him and putting a hand on his arm. "I'm not _blind_ , Jeremy. I knew what I was getting myself into."

He wants to ask a million questions—why him? Why not Hammond? Why not any other young, attractive man? James could have them all if he wanted, and yet he's picked _him_ , a stupid, idiotic old man. But he doesn't, he just falls into James' arms, burying his head in James' soft hair.

"It'll be alright, Jeremy. I promise. People are falling over themselves to have you," he murmurs into Jeremy's shoulder.

"Mmmm," he replies, just enjoying the feel of James. "Including you?"

"Now you're just fishing for compliments, you pillock," James laughs.

For the first time in a while, as he laughs along with James, Jeremy has hope.


	8. Advert (OT3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: no prompt, I watched Jeremy’s fire stick ad too many times and this happened

“I don’t want to film an advert,” Jeremy mumbles into his pillow, hands digging in the sheets.

James resists the temptation to stay in bed with him, and instead gets up and cruelly pulls the duvet away, shaking his head. “Don’t be such a baby, Clarkson. You knew the terms of the contract.”

Jeremy rolls over and he looks so pitiful, alone in the huge bed they all share, in his ratty tracksuit bottoms and with a pleading facial expression on. “But James, it’s so warm here.” He catches James by the wrist and pulls him down on top of him, bodies pressed close. “And I don’t want to leave.”

Richard walks back in at that moment, toothbrush in mouth. “Stop complaining, Jeremy,” he grumbles around his toothbrush, somewhat incoherently. “You get to ride a segway.”

Jeremy can’t respond, because he’s in the midst of kissing James, hands trailing down to pluck at the waistband of James’ pyjama bottoms. It’s a distraction tactic that James knows well, and he pulls back—he doesn’t want to, not really, but Jeremy is going to be late—and sighs.

“Jeremy,” he says, and it’s his no-nonsense tone of voice, so Jeremy sheepishly rolls out from underneath him and gets up, stretching.

“I feel like such a bloody corporate sell-out, you know,” he mutters.

“Who cares?” Richard asks, walking back into the room after having rinsed his mouth. “It’s a segway. Can I come? I want a go.”

It’s a scene so typical of them—Richard, up early, bright and cheerful and ready to face the day; Jeremy, the exact polar opposite of that, grumpy and cantankerous; James, the equaliser to them both, responsible both for tampering Richard’s ridiculous energy (honestly, how is he so lively, especially in the mornings?) and urging Jeremy to get up. A typical routine for them, yes, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Alright. I’m up,” Jeremy declares, stalking over to Richard and kissing him good-morning, placing two fingers under his chin and tilting his head up. “Where’s the bloody coffee?”

James just smiles.


	9. Dreams (Jeremy/Richard)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Richard has a bad dream (not about what happened) and Jeremy comforts him.
> 
> thanks anon!

Jeremy is woken up by a fist straight in his face.

Sleepily, his brain still catching up, he remembers falling into bed with Richard last night, after they’d both had a bottle of wine each. They’d ended up all over each other, Richard pushing him backwards onto the sofa and crawling on top of him deftly, his hands everywhere at once. That explains why they’re both naked, then.

And now he’s punching Jeremy in the nose, writhing and thrashing about terribly in his sleep, eyes shut, muttering things under his breath.

Rolling over, he grabs Richard by the wrists and pulls him in close to his chest, physically restraining the shorter man—which isn’t easy to do, not by a long shot. Even though Jeremy has the advantage of height and bulk, Richard is a lot stronger than he looks; a ball of muscle and sinew. Right now, however, he relaxes against Jeremy’s chest, somehow recognising safety even in the midst of what Jeremy is sure must be a nightmare.

His hands release Richard’s wrists carefully, half expecting to get hit again, but Richard just shuffles closer, muttering something. Jeremy slides an arm around and under, cradling him close, waiting.

Sure enough, Richard blinks awake slowly, mouth turning down into a frown as he props himself up on an elbow and glares at Jeremy. “You’re all fucking sweaty, Jeremy. It’s revolting.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jeremy retorts. “Fine. Next time you punch me in the nose I’ll retaliate instead of having a cuddle.”

“I punched you?” Richard rears back, running a hand through his hair, eyes wild. “Shit. Sorry, Clarkson. I was getting chased… by something… and then there were all these cameras…” He trails off, looking suddenly very small and forlorn in the middle of the bed.

“S’alright. It didn’t hurt.” Jeremy tries his best to look gallant and manly, like he gets punched in the face by his lovers every day. “Much.”

Richard says nothing, just looks worried, and Jeremy can’t stand that stupid lost-puppy look on his face and, grabbing Richard’s wrists again, pulls him in close. Feeling Richard relax on his chest again (despite the sweatiness) soothes them both somewhat, and his hand absentmindedly comes up to stroke Richard’s hair—a gesture that would normally get him a rebuke but, somehow, is allowed this time.

“Let’s get some sleep,” he murmurs, before looking down to realise it’s too late—Richard’s already snoring softly on his chest.


	10. Sweet About Me (Jeremy/Richard, Drouble-Drabble)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: chocolate

“Right,” Jeremy booms, standing up and folding his arms over his chest. “Who ate my chocolate?”

James shrugs without even looking up from his computer. “Wasn’t me,” he replies, but Jeremy isn’t even paying attention to him.

Richard—who is looking up at Jeremy guiltily, with a beseeching smile on his face—has a smear of chocolate on his cheek. “Must have been James,” he offers rather weakly, one of his hands crumpling what must be the chocolate wrapper. “I don’t even like chocolate.”

“You’re a liar, Hammond, and not even a good one,” Jeremy replies, advancing around the desk. “You’ll suffer for that.”

Richard is up and out of his chair in a shot, but Jeremy follows, eventually cornering him in one of the deserted areas of the office—the three of them are the only ones left, everyone else having buggered off earlier. Why Jeremy stayed, he’s not sure; it’s not until he’s got Richard pinned to the wall underneath him that he realises.

“D’you want some?” Richard murmurs, holding his hand up and wiggling his fingers. “There’s still some left…”

Oh. _Oh_. Obligingly Jeremy opens his mouth, his eyes growing wider by the second as Richard slides two fingers inside his mouth. The taste of the chocolate there is sweet, but not as sweet as the spike of arousal it sends down his spine; he licks at Richard’s fingers dutifully and watches as Richard’s pupils dilate, tongue flicking out to wet his own lips.

“Christ, Jeremy, that’s sinful,” he breathes, and leans into Jeremy even more. “Fuck yeah, don’t stop.”

But that, of course, is exactly what Jeremy does, pulling away and turning to head back to his desk, ignoring the way Richard whines from behind him. "Told you you'd suffer for that," he says cheerily, grinning widely to himself.


	11. Blue Flowers (Jeremy/James, Drouble-Drouble-Dribble)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: flowery

"New shirt, May?"

It's an innocuous enough comment from Richard, but Jeremy overhears him and spins on the spot, eager to see what fresh monstrosity James has dug up from his seemingly endless collection of horrors. He’s half-expecting to see something really terrible; instead James is making his way across the pub carpark toward them dressed in a beautiful blue floral button-up exactly the colour of his eyes. It’s nothing that unusual, but it’s certainly not horrible, and in fact it makes a strange warmth spread out somewhere behind Jeremy’s breastbone, a sensation he suppresses as he raises his cigarette to his lips.

“Do you like it?” James asks, holding out his arms in front of him, his brows furrowed. “I thought it might be a bit too… flowery.”

“It’s hideous,” Richard tells him cheerily at the exact time that Jeremy mumbles around his cigarette, “It’s lovely.”

They both stare at him—Richard actually turns around to peer up into his face—with equal expressions of disbelief on their faces, and Jeremy wishes the ground would open up and swallow him right there. He hadn’t meant to say that. He’d meant to say it was an abomination, just like the rest of James' wardrobe, but then the word had just fallen out and now he can't take it back.

"Are you feeling alright, mate?" Richard asks, his eyes narrowed. He gets up on his tiptoes and goes to put a hand on Jeremy's forehead, or tries to; he doesn't quite make it. "You're not running a fever, are you?"

"I meant lovely in the way that, you know, something horrible is lovely. Like a Skoda. Or a van. That kind of lovely." His mouth seems to have taken control of his brain, because he just cannot stop the words from falling out. "It's definitely an ugly shirt, May. Absolutely appalling. Honestly."

James just watches him dig himself a hole with eyes that are shrewd—too shrewd. Jeremy _hates_ that look, because it pierces through all the defences he puts up; James knows him far too well, and it's incredibly disarming. "Shall we go inside?" he offers weakly, dropping his cigarette butt on the ground and grinding it out.

Sometime later, when Richard goes to the bathroom and they're on their third pint, James reaches across the table to touch Jeremy on the back of the hand, that same look in his eyes. "Did you mean that, out there?" he asks, and there's a soft vulnerability about his gaze that has Jeremy's knees weakening under the table. "About the shirt."

"'Course I did," Jeremy replies. "It is a lovely shirt, May. It matches your eyes."

James averts his eyes, but he's smiling. "Thanks, Jeremy."


	12. Bump (Jeremy/James, Drabble-Dribble)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: crawling

"James? Where are you?"

From down the hall, Jeremy hears a muffled thump and then—"Fuck," James cries out, and it's so loud Jeremy can hear him from where he's standing in the entrance hall. Toeing off his shoes quickly, he heads down the hall to find James in the bedroom, crawling out from under the bed and rubbing his head miserably.

"Are you alright?" Jeremy takes the hand James thrusts at him and pulls him upright. "Getting a bit clumsy, are we?"

"You startled me," James says with a scowl. "That really bloody hurt."

Jeremy rolls his eyes, but turns James around so he can inspect the damage anyway. "It's fine, May. You'll have a lump but that's about it." Moving quickly, he presses the briefest of kisses to the crown of James' head. "There. All better."

"That didn't help," James replies, but when he turns around he's smiling.


End file.
